What Women Want
by Hellsig Otoupeim
Summary: Circles don't really begin anywhere, but hers did have a starting point. She knows it did, because there was a moment when she wasn't, and one when she was. Then there was Theo, always in that cycle even when he didn't realise it. And it went on, on and on -rince and repeat until suddenly there was no Theodore. And the circle ended.


**Disclaimer** : I do not own any of J.K. Rowling's creations and am shamelessly trying to make dunes out of her sandcastle. The italicised poem, _What Women Want_ is by Kim Adonizzio. Kurassem and Natalie are, however, mine. Thank you.

 _._

 _I want a red dress_

.

The first time Theodore Nott met her, he was aiming to get drunk in a cranky bar and she couldn't remember her name. (That was the whole point of the night, he realised later on. To forget –and hadn't it just failed so beautifully?)

Theodore was on what had to be his second bottle of 1854 Dublin Firewhiskey, 'a very good year' he'd been told by the waitress and he had pondered asking her how she would _know_ , since she looked underage and underfed. He shut up and ordered three bottles, left her a tip and refused to follow the slip of a woman into the toilet for his 'thank you'. _I'm into boys_ , he'd said. Her eyes had widened and she smiled, before bringing him his bottles and a plate of olives. _Not much, but thank you,_ she had replied. (He wondered if the old farts in the corner, the ones that stunk of grime and sweat and leer, had given the poor girl a tip. He wondered if she'd offered to 'thank' them as well, all in broken eyes and jutting collarbones.) Theodore wasn't sure he wanted to know.

She, on the other hand, was well into her fourth bottle. The hungry waitress must have known the girl rather well, because she kept tossing concerned glances her way and at one point refused to hand over more alcohol. ( _You are already wasted, Kurassem –I could supply you with cheap booze and you wouldn't even realise._ ) Theodore took this all in with the casual awareness of a child of war (it was brewing, no matter what _they_ said) but kept his want tucked away. People came to the _Green Gryffin_ to drink away their sorrows, not fight. It was a neutral zone, one his father had frequented, one his grandfather had frequented and his father before that. (Theoros Nott was dead for all he still breathed, and Theodore didn't quite know what he was doing here –reminiscing? Days before his Father had to answer the call of a megalomaniac madman?)

He wondered how far exactly they had fallen, for him to prefer the madman to his current life. (The madman didn't sneer at him because he was pureblood, the madman didn't turn his nose up because he wore a green tie and the madman didn't scoff at his cunning.) If he had to put up with the Muggle-born crap, then he would. Theodore was tired.

.

 _I want it flimsy and cheap_

.

"_hullo handsome." The drunk twenty something crawled into the free seat at his table, staggering with a bottle of _something_ in her hand as she tried to look half dignified. "What's your name?"

He eyes her with disgust (half blood or muggleborn, that one –no pureblooded witch was this _crass_ ), looking the other way from the girl's outrageous slur and her ethereal grey eyes. (Bloodshot, he noted. He wasn't the only one aware of the war.)

"_Kurassem, go home." The woman –Kurassem, waved the waitress away. "Nah, Nata –Nata –Natalie." She stumbled, crossed her eyes and gripped onto the bottle. "I don't remember where it is. Do you know?" she had turned to him, something in those grey eyes that reminded him of the empty rooms at Nott Manor and the warded wings he never set foot into.

"_no. No I don't, Miss." (He wasn't talking about her home.) Something flickered.

"_wanna take me home to I don't know where?" she asked. Her voice was absolutely desperate, and Theodore wondered if this scrap of a girl realised he was gay –Theodore would be her safest option tonight.

"_not especially." Natalie shifted from foot to foot.

"_I can't take her home." She said quietly. "Kura can't be left alone when she's like that. And she can't stay here, not even in the backroom. My shift doesn't end before four." Natalie pleaded, and Theodore wondered why he was even considering this. He owed neither of these girls anything, and he _really_ didn't want to be doing anything good tonight. Tonight was meant to be all about him, forgetting his father and not going home until properly smashed. (But he pitied her, because Theodore pitied himself as much as he hated how pathetic he was, and it was so _easy_ to project all these feelings onto the drunk witch.) "Please? You just have to get her through the floo, don't even have to stay there." He wondered if the waitress thought he had owl post written on his forehead. He was Theodore Nott, Heir of the House of Nott, second Oldest House of England and he would bloody well not be used as anyone's manservant. (But he had come here to be just Theo, hadn't he?)

"_where the hell shall I bring her?"

Natalie sighed in relief, a flicker of happiness flashing over her features.

"_the Hall isn't warded, so you can get through the floo system that way. But don't try to step past the Hall, otherwise you'll get a nasty surprise. Kurassem enchanted the wards to go after anyone she hadn't keyed in."

Theo raised an eyebrow but didn't object, slinging the girl's arm over his shoulder and grabbing the neck of his unopened firewhiskey.

"_floo does _something_ to the taste", he said almost wistfully, before he tossed the powder in the earth and enunciated clearly. "Porter House."

.

 _I want it too tight, I want to wear it,_

.

There was a recliner in the corner of the Hall he'd flooed into. (It looked comfy and well worn, and Theodore wondered how often she had been brought back by strangers.) There was a bunch of dead flowers in a vase on the mantelpiece and a dusty coat hanger someone had hooked a comforter to –hooked, because he could see the arm of the coat rack poking through a hole in what looked to be silken fabric. (Despair and desuetude and despondency.)

There was a tumbler and flask of whiskey by the dead flowers, rows upon rows of hangover potions in the cabinet and the portrait of a pretty woman above the chimney he had stepped from. She stood still, but Theodore could see her eyes track him as he pulled Kurassem to the divan and laid her down, covering the slip of a woman with the ratty comforter and taking her shoes off. (Heels, he noted. Thick boots with high platforms, but five or six centimetres of heels regardless.)

"_who are you?" the portrait eventually asked.

"_no one –I assume this is a recurrent theme?"

Silence, during which he looked around for floo powder in order to get back to his place.

"_in the pot by the flowers" the woman eventually provided. "Yes." she said after a pause, hesitant like a portrait shouldn't be. "The air of this House is suffocating with death and dust and decay."

Theodore couldn't disagree. (The pot only had whispers of floo powder left, so Theodore apparated home, sober but with a bottle in toe.)

.

 _Until someone tears it off me._

.

He got flowers and a bottle of firewhiskey through owl post two days later. No words, not a thank you card, but Theodore hadn't been so magnanimous as to help heaps of people in the past weeks and really, only the woman really _had_ a reason to even send them. It made him strangely mad.

 _Why do you drink so much?_ He wrote in a fit of rage and tied to the leg of the beautiful black owl which had seeped through his manor at breakfast. Why do you drink so much? (He remembered a beautiful woman and a widowed father who had scorned his sorrow with alcohol.) Why do you drink so much? _Why do you drink so fucking much when Natalie worries so much? Do you not care?_

(Why did Daddy never look at him anymore? Why was everything amber tainted?)

.

 _I want it sleeveless and backless_

.

 _Fuck you._

The girl appeared on his doorstep that night, knocking on the door long after he had sent her owl back without a message, and she had looked so angry and lost and utterly human that Theodore had let her in.

"_what are you doing here?"

"_Natalie recognised who you were."

"_what are you doing here?" he asked again –because if there was one thing Theodore Nott didn't like, it was people not answering his questions. Kurassem scuffed her boot (still black and with platforms and silly high, but it meant he didn't have to bend down to talk to her like he did with so many others.)

"_I don't know."

It was a good enough answer.

"_tea?" he asked after a beat.

"_firewhiskey?" the look he sent her was sharp, but he called for an elf to bring them a bottle and motioned her in.

"_who are you anyway?"

.

 _This dress, so no one has to guess_

.

"_meh. I'm pretty simple." Theodore looked at the liar sitting in front of him, the woman leaning against the armrest of the expansive couch as if it didn't cost more than her monthly alcohol bill. "I like good booze and getting drunk, people who want to be my friend with no ulterior motives and potions. I love potions."

"_do you work with potions?" his fingers traced the rim of the tumbler, the amber liquid sloshing around with the ice. Hers was empty again. Theodore didn't refill it.

"_yeah. I have an apprenticeship with the _Blue Badger_ , been working with Hans for about two years now."

"_down Knockturn Alley?" Theodore looked at the witch again. (She wasn't Dark like some of the people he knew. She wasn't Dark like his father was, like Bellatrix was.)

"_they don't look into you too much, down there. I didn't even have OWLs, so I had to do a practical interview first and they were the only one willing to take me on."

Theodore revised his assessment of the witch. (If she didn't have her OWLs, she couldn't be older than him, especially with having worked there for two years.)

"_how old are you exactly?"

"_sixteen. Why?"

Well. That was unexpected. Theodore looked at the empty glass in her hands. (Huh. Sixteen, eh?)

"_dropped out of Hogwarts?"

"_end of third year." So his fourth. The Triwizard tournament, Potter and the Goblet of Fire and –Voldemort. She'd been pulled out when _He_ returned. Theodore settled into his seat. (Why had he let her in again?)

"_Voldemort scared you?" she barked out a laugh.

"_no." a moment, as she considered her words. "Father died and I needed money."

An orphan. (Theodore wondered if her father died at the hands of death eaters, if his own father had been the one to make the woman before him an orphan. He preferred not to know.)

"_I'm sorry."

"_not your fault." She replied within the same breath, almost biting.

(He hoped it wasn't.)

.

 _What's underneath._

.

It was a nice day, with crickets chirping and a lovely taste of summer. Late summer, he said –early autumn Kurassem had replied. Early autumn. It was her favourite season, or so she had claimed; full of vibrant reds and earthy browns, like the soft passing of time. Autumn was a Gryffindor season, she had told him at some point. Winter was Ravenclaw, Spring for Slytherins and Summer was the Hufflepuff's kindness.

"_us ravens" she had said, and there was a grimace on her face, "are coldly clinical. Slytherins are bitterly emotional, the type of person who hides under an unfeeling mask and pretends they don't get hurt by the world's callousness, but Slytherins are the ones with the most hope, I think. I think… I think Slytherins aren't half the scumbags that school makes them out to be –I think Ravens are worse."

He had been intrigued. (Of course he had; how many people looked at Slytherins with kind eyes now a days?)

"_Ravenclaw is ruthless in its search for knowledge. I have cursed classmates just so that I could record the effects of an untested spell, I have dabbled in Dark Magic just to _know_ if it could be done, I have used Babylonian spells on animals because no one remembered what they did. It's… Ravenclaw is _cold_ , cold in a way that winter is, because in winter all things are dormant and appear dead. It's the best description, I think. Ravenclaw is like winter –cold and calculating and curious. Slytherins are spring. It's the coldest season, but it's also the beginning of something new. I think Slytherin will be the dawn of a new age."

"_why the badgers as summer then?" she laughed, suddenly self-conscious.

"_it must sound so silly, hearing me say all these things so thoughtfully." Theodore didn't try to belittle or comfort her. He wanted to know, not because he agreed (Slytherins were winter, barren and biting and brutal) but because he wanted to _know_ he girl in front of him.

"_I think summer is the season of kindness. It's the season of love and peace and happiness. Hufflepuff is all about loyalties and light hearted happiness. Autumn is…" her voice was a whisper. "Autumn is decay. Things prepare to die and bathe in blood and everything falls to piece slowly. It's a magnificent death –a beautiful sacrifice, but it's so _Gryffindor_. So… dramatic and seemingly useless, but vital nonetheless."

Theodore thought Summer to be Gryffindor. It was loud and vibrant, glaring right in your face and sweeping you along. It burnt and lasted not quite long enough, just like those silly self-sacrificing Gryffindor. Spring was Hufflepuffs. Bringing new life and hope –but the Ravens, he didn't quite know. Autumn was too soft for the scholars. (He agreed that, if winter could be anything _other_ than Slytherin, then perhaps ravens were the second best suited to impersonate the cruellest season.)

Kurassem stretched into the chair beside him, her back arching as she pulled on her shoulders. The chairs elves had displayed outside were comfortable and soft, so he knew her ache wasn't from that.

Kurassem opened her mouth to say something, inhaling deeply before she sank back into her seat and let her arms drop. Her mouth closed. Theodore watched her, waiting. (She would speak –for all Kurassem was a Ravenclaw she was easy to predict. She was easy to be with.)

She kept quiet, and Theodore felt the acrid tang of bitterness spread over his taste buds.

"_I have to go." She murmured as she stood up, brushing her trousers off. Kurassem had come in after work at the potion shop, her hair frizzy and stains onto her black clothes. They were worn down and sturdy, in a way Theodore's clothes had never been. (Had never _needed_ to be.)

"_home?" he questioned, and Theodore wondered why he had asked. (He didn't care. The house was silent when she wasn't around, but he didn't _care_. He didn't. He'd be back to Hogwarts by the end of the week anyway.)

"_Natalie is in hospital." Kurassem said after a silence. "She was attacked after her shift."

Theodore stiffened, half rising out of his chair at the declaration. (Natalie? _Natalie?_ ) Kurassem looked a little lost, with that hard light in her eyes –the one of a kid who had already resigned herself to being alone. (Natalie. Natalie who didn't eat enough, Natalie who fussed when he took them out to dinner, Natalie who had cooked lunch once for Kurassem and him, Natalie who'd come over to his house and bake just because. _Natalie_.)

"_who?" his voice was hard, but he didn't _want_ to know. He didn't _want_ to hear it.

The cold hand that clutched at his shoulder was answer enough.

.

 _I want to walk down_

.

There was a sign on the door Kurassem pushed open, one that read _"Short Stay"_ and Theodore wondered what the hell they were doing here, because there was _no_ way that Natalie (young, pretty, kind Natalie) had been put into St Mungo's Dying Ward.

Natalie was laying on a bed, her eyes closed as she inhaled and exhaled painfully. She was breathing through the ache in her body, pale skin ashen and taunt over her bones. There was a drip in her arm and the annoying buzz of those heart rate tracking charms hospitals liked so much. It was a very faint buzz, and Theodore wondered why the hell they had bothered with it. (Natalie was dying.)

"_crucio." Kurassem whispered as she stood next to him. "and a bunch of other nasties." She refused to meet his eye, her grey eyes onto the dead woman and her fists held tightly. Kurassem turned from the figure on the bed and strode to the window. Theodore looked at the corpse hidden in his friend's skin as the buzzing grew fainted and fainter. Eventually it died down enough for a _bip_ to curse through the room, spurring a nurse to open the door and cast a re-animating charm on the unconscious patient.

"_it's the eighth." Kurassem said quietly to the window. (Two more and they couldn't use magic on her anymore, lest her heart muscles decay.) The nurse had acknowledged neither of them. "I was there for five, with you for one and at work for the other two. They are getting more frequent." She turned towards him. "I'll stay the night."

By the morning, the room would be cleaned and another patient in.

.

 _The street, past Thrifty's and the hardware store,_

.

They scattered her ashes on a Wednesday, because it was the only weekday Kurassem had a long lunchtime and the sun was shining. Natalie's body had been burnt ( _Inferi_ , Kurassem had said. Inferi indeed.) and the sixteen years old clutched tightly at the urn in her hands. Theodore watched as the sun shone and the wind blew and the smell of sea invaded his nostrils and Kurassem tipped the mouth of the vase into the emptiness. The dust floated gently down and into the crashing waves below.

The vase slipped from her fingers, and although Kurassem dropped down to catch it, it skittered past her hands and tumbled over the cliff, obsidian falling down, down, down –past the fluttering ashes and the foaming waves and into the dark abysses of the ocean. Theodore gently walked towards her as she meekly watched the spot where it had disappeared.

"_ _no longer mourn for me when I am dead, when you shall hear the surly sullen bell give warning to the world that I am fled from this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell_." She murmured as his hand settled on her shoulder.

"_ _nay, if you read this line, remember not the hand that writ it; for I love you so that I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot if thinking on me then should make you woe._ " He replied. His hand, firm and steady, gripped her tighter as Kurassem looked over her shoulder and her cheek brushed the back of it.

"_you know Shakespeare?" she wondered. Theodore smiled a little, strained and forced as he wondered what he could say in response to that. Kurassem smiled slightly, a little shaky but there, and his own lost stiffness.

"_yeah."

Kurassem leant back against him as she looked onto the horizon, where sea met sky and bled into paleness.

"_I'm tired." She finally murmured. "Take me home?"

.

 _With keys glittering in the window_

.

"_I'd like you to meet my boyfriend."

Kurassem looked up sharply from the book she was reading, snuggled into an armchair in Theodore's wing of Nott manor as he shuffled slightly from foot to foot. Once she'd broken past the regular pureblood ice mask, she'd been pleasantly surprised to see the seventeen years old Theo underneath. (He was sweet and careful, loyal to those he chose and fiercely protective of _his_ family. He was Kurassem's reason to get up in the morning.)

"_I understand if you say no" he added precipitately. "I mean, it's not like you have to and he's gay like me and –"

"_I'd love to, Theo."

He smiled at that. A proper, true smile the curled at the edges of his eyes and lifted his lips; not the mimicry of a grimace he pulled on whenever he went out in public. It was a real eye smile, and she loved it. It made agreeing to meet mystery man worth it.

A hand threaded through her hair a little while after she'd gone back to her book. Kurassem stiffened a little but relaxed immediately, not wanting Theodore to let go. It felt nice, like she was a pretty thing to be taken care of. Like he was petting her and lulling her to sleep.

(Sometimes Kurassem wished she could go to sleep and never wake up –but it was better not to dwell on that. For now, she had Theodore and Theodore relied on her, for all he claimed not to. Theodore trusted her, needed her like Natalie had needed someone to take care of, and he was too important to Kurassem for the girl to let him down.)

.

 _Past Mr and Mrs Wong selling day old_

.

His boyfriend was a blonde Half Blood. (She didn't understand; couldn't Theo see how dangerous this was for him? If someone caught wind of his little tumble on the "wrong side of the road", he would be killed by Death Eaters a lot faster than it took him to say 'Father'.) His name was Matthew (how _bland_ ) and he was a stocky boy. (More apt at playing Quidditch than studying, she guessed –so why did Theo, smart and bright Theodore, love this brutish boy?) Kurassem disliked him from the moment she saw the blonde, and it was wholly unfounded, this hatred of hers. (Theodore was _hers_ , so why the hell did that blonde think he could _steal_ from her?)

"_hello, I'm Matthew. Theodore told me much about you." He extended a hand to kiss hers, but Kurassem shook it firmly and stepped away.

"_nice to meet you, Matthew. I'm Kurassem." (She would make an effort for Theodore. Because he mattered.)

"_you don't like him." Kura turned to Theodore, her eyes trailing away from Matthew. The blonde had gotten up to use the restroom, leaving the two friends sat at a table in a posh restaurant, and Theodore had jumped on the occasion to talk to Kurassem. It wasn't _obvious_ that she disliked the man, but he had known her for a year now and the minute tightening of her eyes when she spoke to him was enough for Theodore to realise that his friend was trying very, _very_ hard not to snap.

"_he's stupid."

Theodore burst out laughing at the simply honest statement, tears pearling at the corner of his eyes. Yes, Matthew _was_ stupid –but then Theodore wasn't planning to marry him. He just wanted some relaxing time before the War began.

"_he is. But by Merlin; he does have a nice ass, Kura. Good enough for a few more weeks until I go back to Hogwarts."

If he spotted the relaxing slope of her shoulders at his words, Theodore said nothing.

.

 _Doughnuts in their café, past the Guerra Brothers_

 _._

"_who?"

Kurassem would have to ask Theodore to teach her _how_ he managed to push so much emotion in this single word, how he managed to load it with anger and rage and sheer scorn. (Never mind the fact that it was her who elicited such response.)

"_I tripped, Theo."

The look he sent her was glacial, but Kurassem didn't mind. ( _It was your Dad, Theo. Could have been him, for all Death Eaters look the same once their masks are on_. Theodore didn't need to hear that.)

"_you lie."

"_I do, but oh! Here is a client, and no matter how much I enjoy spending time with you I have a job to do. Welcome to the _Blue Badger_ , how may I help you sir?"

"_I'm looking for Mr Hans Philenberg."

"_I'm afraid sir that Mr Philenberg isn't available at the moment. Could I perhaps help you?"

The customer inside the shop looked once over at Kurassem, taking in her appearance as something sparked in his eyes. (They were blue, frigid and cold. Kurassem felt chilled when she crossed his gaze.)

"_yes. I'm sure you can, Miss…"

"_Porter, Sir. Natalie Porter." (Theodore startled at the name, but he didn't say anything otherwise and Kurassem suddenly felt like a mouse trapped between two lions.)

The blue eyed man smiled, but it was jagged and cutting and she wondered if running now was worth losing her job later. She wondered if she still had the time to run.

"_my name is Tom Riddle, and I've heard a lot about you, Miss Kurassem Gaunt."

 _Too late_.

.

 _Slipping pigs from the truck onto the dolly_

.

Both teens froze inside the shop at the mention of the accursed name. (Tom Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle. _I am Lord Voldemort_.) Theodore was the first to regain his countenance.

"_my Lord." He said, bowing at the waist towards the pale man. Voldemort dismissed him casually, taking note of the Nott Scion before focusing all of his attention on the girl before him.

"_ _I have long looked for you_." the Snake Tongue bit at Theodore's ears, piercing through his mind with a vindictive anger. He wondered why the Lord of Snakes would speak such, but Kurassem beat him to the question and his blood ran cold.

"_I cannot understand you, Sir."

The crucio left Voldemort's wand so swiftly Theodore didn't even have the time to blink, but Kura managed to jump out of the way and roll behind the counter just in time for the curse to hit the back shelf. Theodore stepped away from the fray as Kurassem cast a freezing charm on the falling potions and there was a second of utter stillness.

"_ _let us try this again, snakeling. And this time, do not lie._ "

The pop of Kurassem's apparition was the only answer to the Lord's words. (His laugh was maddened and the light in his eyes when he turned towards Theodore was wholly insane. Theo wondered if the crucio would hurt more or less than his father's.)

Surprisingly enough, he still didn't know by the time the Lord exited the _Blue Badger_.

.

 _Hoisting their slick snouts over their shoulders._

.

Kurassem had joined Theodore at a back table of the _Green Gryffin_ once again, each with a bottle of wholly illegal firewhiskey in their hands. Silence hung between the two of them. It poisoned the air, ripping apart a year of _were_ for a thousand _could-have-been_ s. Kurassem was, oddly enough, the first to break the silence.

"_He let you go."

"_He did."

Silence stretched again. (She had left him with the Dark Lord, hadn't stood by her friend and taken him along in her escape. She had defied the Dark Lord and left Theodore to bear the brunt of her actions. She was filthy.)

"_how comes He was looking for you?"

(Theodore had led the Dark Lord to the _Blue Badger_ , had been held at wand point as soon as his connection to the curly haired witch had been known and was forced to stand by as she faced Him. He was a bloody coward.)

"_his mother is my great Aunt."

Silence, heavy as lead. Then;

"_you are a Parseltongue? You are his _cousin_?" (Rage, anger, betrayal. She was no better than the rest, worse than most. She was of the same blood as Him, of the same madness. Gosh she was _His_.)

"_don't look so shocked, Theodore. You are not one to judge."

She was His blood, His family, His flesh. Her tongue was the one of snakes and she shared in His madness and –and she was Kurassem, his friend. The one who had a comforter in her Hall because she drank too often. The one who couldn't cook for shit. The one who lived in a too big Manor like the pureblood she actually was.

Fuck. _Fuck._

"_okay." He said after a time, breathing out the anger. "Okay. You are his cousin once removed. I can deal with that. Okay."

If he didn't hug her as tightly as before when they said goodbye, that night, well; she was glad he was still talking to her, at least.

.

 _I want to walk like I'm the only_

.

After the war, Kurassem wants to work in Scotland on the _Niue Dragon Reserve._ Called the _NiDRe_ by those who work there, it is a big park closed by magic under a lake. They take care of a whole lot of Dragons there, especially the aquatic kind, and their oldest beast is a sea Wyyvern called Nessie who lives in a northern Scottish Lake. The dragons protect the reserve as much as the humans do, and since they are all reptiles to which snakes are really closely related, they mostly understand basic Parseltongue. She hopes to work there.

Potions, dragons and solitude. It's all she wants from her life after the war. (No more glances, no more pointed fingers, no more disgust. Kurassem Porter can be Kurassem Gaunt again.)

.

 _Woman on earth and I can have my pick._

.

In the meantime, Kurassem drinks too much and picks up boys in the hope that _someone_ , anyone, will put their hands around her neck and squeeze too tight in a moment of passion. She doesn't really know _why_ she feels such, only that the feeling abates when Theodore is nearby. Kurassem really, really hopes that she isn't stupid enough to fall in love with a gay man.

.

 _I want that red dress bad._

.

Kurassem Gaunt pretends to be _many_ people. (A silly young witch, a potion mistress, a friend, a shoulder to cry on, a respectable girl –anything that will keep her alive.) She tells people she is twenty (aging charms) and that her father works in another country (he's _dead_.) She tells them she enjoys French food (the toilet bowl's her friend) and Kurassem smiles an awful lot. (Jagged.) The few customers who come by the Blue Badger often enough think they know the pretty young witch behind the counter. (They know Kurassem Porter. Not Kura Gaunt.)

They don't know about her dreams.

(She dreams of pale skin and black hair, of icy eyes and a crooked smile. She dreams of warm homes and firelight, of happiness and _peace_. She dreams of growing old and dying beside someone, dreams of going first because Kura has always and will always be selfish. She dreams of something that doesn't exist.)

Kurassem Gaunt dreams of _many_ things. (She has as many dreams as people she impersonates. Maybe they each represent a dream. Maybe she's just mad.) Sometimes, when no one is around and she thinks she's going to forget about it very soon, Kurassem hopes that, one day, someone will take a good hard look and see, past the veneer of rosy cheeks and full lips, that there is something underneath; something –someone with a bullet proof armour on.

 _How silly_. (She still hopes though.)

.

 _I want it to confirm_

.

"_look at me!"

Not every days are sunshine and roses. They don't mind that much.

"_look at me Theodore and say that to my face once more!"

"_fucking Raven don't even understand feelings! Slytherins hide them but you don't even fucking have any!"

She flies at him so fast she blurs, but Theo manages to side step it and they don't even pretend to use their wands. She's a girl and he's gay, both out of the hitting list, but neither care so they hit one another and roll about on the expensive flooring of Nott Manor. There's dust being kicked up, because they've chased one another into an empty wing and the portraits there look on eagerly. (It's their only entertainment.)

Theo's the first one to give in. (There are tears on his face and bitterness in his mouth.)

"_'Death Eater's son', he said to me. 'I can't bear it, Theo. We just aren't working.' Fucking bastard."

Kurassem holds him in between two punches, but Theodore can't see that. He's too blinded by the pain, by the agony –he was _not good again_ , wasn't he? Not _enough_. He finds it hard to believe her when she says she loves him, mutters it into his hair as she racks her hand through his curls and kisses his face. He doesn't snort, which is better than last time.

"_sure you do, Kura." He says. "I'm a good pet."

She holds him tighter, but Theodore's lost to her tonight, and Kurassem couldn't have spoken past the knot in her throat even if she wanted to.

.

 _Your worst fears about me_

.

He catches her talking to one of the common snakes that live in his gardens, and Theodore Nott's blood runs cold. ( _Parseltongue._ He knows what it means.) His face drains of all colour and hers is set in a mask of mortification, but by that time the hisses are out of her mouth and she cannot take them back.

"_Theo…"

He is quiet for a long time. (Taking it all in. He knew, of course, but he didn't _know_.) She is a Slytherin, this Ravenclaw of his, and he wonders if this has _anything_ to do with the fact she's been hiding. Theodore isn't an idiot. He puts the pieces together very, _very_ quickly.)

"_why was he looking for you, at the _Badger_?"

Kurassem releases the poisonous reptile (of _course_ ) and sits next to him on the steps of the veranda. He hadn't realised he'd sat down. Maybe Theodore's going into shock. He isn't sure anymore.

"_House Unity, family and being useful, mainly."

It's a bit of a convoluted twist, but Theodore isn't an idiot; the Dark Lord and she are related enough that they would share a vault, that everything they own is shared. It kind of says something though, that neither the madman nor his friend seek to break that bond. He wonders if, when someone wants to marry Kura, they'll have to pass the approval of the Dark Lord. He feels sorry for the poor sod. He feels sorry for Kurassem (Voldemort as Pater Familias might be a bit awkward), but that one soon abates. She doesn't feel sorry for herself, otherwise she'd have asked for a separation of her inheritance and buggered off. (He wonders if she holds onto the Dark Lord because he is _all_ she has left.)She's a liar though, isn't she? A trickster who doesn't need anyone; so why is he worrying? She'll be fine. She'll slither away, like those snakes of her, hide into a hole until the war is over and emerge again when the storm has passed. She'll keep her head low, but at least it'll be on her shoulders –and Kurassem has learnt to be grateful for little things like that.

She's a fucking liar, a bloody conniving bitch, but she's his; all dreadful relatives and shadow skulking, and Theodore has always kept very good care of what was his.

.

 _To show you how little I care about you_

.

"_you need to tell me these things!"

"_why?"

The question sends Theodore reeling. (Why? Because he _cares_ dammit! Because he loves her like the sibling he never had, because she's been there when no one else has and because Theodore relies on her. He _needs_ her.) _Why?_ She asked. Why indeed.

"_why does it matter if I tell you whether I've fooled around with a few kiddies or not? You've got Hogwarts, don't you? A little castle to run back to, so don't complain. I don't care enough for that, Theodore."

She doesn't say _I don't care enough for you_ , but he hears it anyway. (It's a lie and both know it, because she _cares_ , she cares and worries and bites her nails when he is at Hogwarts, but tonight she needs to makes him _hurt_.) Theodore keeps quiet, but he can't quite look at her anymore.

Kurassem bites harder.

"_leave me alone, Theodore. You aren't my keeper."

"_no." He looks at her and she refuses to tear her gaze away. "No, I'm not. Not your keeper and not leaving you alone either."

"_fuck off, Theodore."

"_don't be vulgar. It hardly suits you."

She snarls and takes a step towards him in rage. Gosh, doesn't she look so pureblood like that? So Slytherin? His hand tangles in her hair and he smashes his lips against hers. (What the hell is he doing? He's fucking _gay_.)

Kura stiffens beneath him, pulling away sharply. She looks less angry, more broken now. Jagged and harsh, like she might break if he prods her too hard. He wonders why a kiss changed her like that.

"_don't be a fucking tosser. You like men."

Yes. Yes he does. He prefers them to women anyway, couldn't imagine fucking one of them, and yet here he is. Kissing Kura. Sixteen years old Theodore Nott wonders what the hell is wrong with him. (He might like the bodies of men, but he's in love with her, soul and mind and fire –and how on earth is he going to explain that?)

"_I…" the words stumble in his mouth, but Kurassem waits. There is _something_ in her eyes, like she _knows_ anyway what's bugging him so much. "I don't get it. I'm gay but… but you… It's –I don't know."

He guesses he could have said worse, even if Kura flinched and laughed harshly.

"_yeah. Neither do I."

She kisses him again, though. Because she doesn't really care about that kind of stuff.

.

 _Or anything except what_

.

Kurassem tried to commit suicide five times before she kissed Theo.

The first time was wholly accidental. _Of course_. It was after her father's death, and she was pretty much lost. The Triwzard tournament had just occurred and Voldemort was announced back, her father's blood was all over the new carpet of their living room, there hadn't even been four months between the two events and there were ashes everywhere around her.

Her mother's drawing room, her father's study, her room. Blown to bits, torn apart, from dust they came and unto dust they turned again. Ashes. Her life in ashes and no one to tell her it would all be alright. (She wouldn't have believed them anyway, but it would have been _nice_.) The stain in the carpet just would not get out and Kurassem got angry. She lost it.

Magic roared around her, seeping from her skin as she focused all of her might on ripping the fucking stain out of the goddamned synthetic white carpet. It caught fire. She didn't make it out. (Until she did –but _how_?)

The second time was entirely on purpose and she didn't fucking regret it. (She shot an _Avada Kedavra_ at herself and waited. Her dad slapped her around the face and wouldn't even let her get onto the boat to cross the Black Lake.) She guessed it had to be called the White Lake now, seeing everything was basking into this annoying green half-light. The shade of the _Avada_.

The third and fourth time weren't mistakes either. (The fifth wasn't, but it was different then. There was something different about the fifth.) The third time she drowned (twice, once in real life and once in the White Lake as she attempted to cross it. Funny that Hogwarts should be her hell when it had been her safe place in life.) The fourth she got a Death Eater to do it for her. (She could recall with exactitude the way her entrails felt as they froze, how they were ripped out of her and the pain, the _pain_ , flaring right behind her eyelids as she screamed and screamed and scream –and then silence. The Lake again. No boats.)

Kurassem was stuck onto these shores. Until the fifth.

The fifth time she committed suicide, she didn't even reach the shores of the White Lake. She was floating, floating away and out of this realm of existence, beyond those shores of colours and into the black and white world of limbo when a sharp, pulling, tugging pain called her back. Kurassem fought it, of course. How could she not? Was she even a failure at dying? Could she not do _one_ thing right?

"_didn't you care? Don't you care about me? Don't you care about _us_? What would I tell Theo? What would he do without you there? Kurassem! You have to come back. I need you. Theo _needs_ you. Don't you care about us? Don't you care about _Theodore_?"

The fifth time, Natalie brought her back. For her troubles, the gentle barmaid got an _obliviate_. (Kurassem _hated_ herself. But there was a Magical Oath and a Cursed Family Line and too much white light –so _that_ was nothing new.)

.

 _I want_

.

Theodore knew Kurassem Gaunt to be incredibly selfish. She took what she wanted without care to others, killed if it would ensure her survival and ripped away memories if it even looked like it might help her. He knew Kurassem Gaunt to be one of the greatest embodiments of Slytherin there ever was, ruthless and determined to survive, ambitious to a fault and always the king on her own chessboard. (And what a king she was, twisted and greedy. A king and a queen into a single piece that bore no hurdle to lay in her way.)

Theodore Nott had never quite fully realised, however, how similar Kura Black (Porter by name, of course, because she needs to _hide_ , but she's a Black alright. her mother's a Black. _W_ _as_. _Was_ a Black.) and Kurassem Gaunt _really_ were. (Kura had killed for him, and wasn't he what Kurassem wanted? The Black girl had a temper to outdo a storm, and wasn't Gaunt already mad as a hatter? His friend would survive even if she had to rip the earth open to do so, but wasn't the Heiress already doing that?) It wasn't surprising. Kura and Kurassem were the same person. (But Kura was _his_.)

He looked at her. Looked at her as those grey eyes hardened and pushed him backwards onto the bed. Looked at her as she stood above him and prowled his body. Looked at her as she removed his clothes and let her hands rove over his skin. He looked at her through parted eyelashes and half closed eyes. He looked at her through the mists of desire and heat. He looked at her with the eyes of a thirsty man at a well.

Theodore Nott was what Kurassem Gaunt wanted –and although he hadn't realised it yet; Theodore Nott had become a king on a chessboard he never fathomed.

.

 _When I find it, I'll pull that garment_

.

She is at the same time incredibly possessive and fantastically uncaring. It's a wonder to Theodore, because Kurassem doesn't bristle when he looks at wizards or flirts or even kisses other men. She watches him, watches him with a half-smile and a look in her eyes. Theodore feels owned and dirty and he always keeps his eyes open when he kisses boys, because he wants to _see_ Kurassem's grey eyes as they tell him to go and play, go and make a fool of himself and experience, because Kurassem _knows_ Theodore will _always come back to her_. (He's seventeen and that's meant to make him free, but Kurassem has got him trapped in shackles he doesn't even mind.)

She owns him in a way that is both all-encompassing and freeing. (She loves him like the sun might love the moon –fully and without fear because the moon cannot exist without the sun.) She owns him in the way she loves him, and Theodore doesn't really know how to react when Kurassem laughs at the sight of him and another man in bed. He feels belittled and trusted and mocked all at the same time. (It's oddly safe. That in itself annoys Theodore.)

He _thinks_ that's how she loves him.

Kurassem loves Theodore in a very strange way. (Unconditionally, although she will never tell him.) She loves him enough to look away when he flirts with other men, loves him so much she needs to remember her place (because he doesn't love her half as much as she loves him) and therefore doesn't advert her eyes when he kisses the same men he flited with and Kurassem loves him enough not to give Theodore a hard time when he does more than just kissing these men. She loves him in a way that burns, because Theodore is in love with her but he doesn't _desire_ her, he wants to put a ring of her finger and make love to her and keep her by his side but it isn't the burning desire of a raging fire. The way he loves her is like a long, languid river. It's always there, slow and steady and never ending. He loves her. (All she has is the assurance of his love, his words when he has drunk too much and he cannot see if she is a man or a woman anymore. She knows he does, because there is love in his eyes when he bends her over the table, but he's always so _drunk_ and Kurassem is always so _scared_.)

She wonders if, one day, he'll open his eyes and asks himself what he's doing with a girl. (She tries not to think about it, tries not to remember the smell of amortentia and the temptation to make it, because Kurassem is smart and being smart is not making the mistakes of those who came before. Kurassem wonders how alike Merope and she are.)

Kurassem Gaunt is in love with all the madness of a Black. It shrouds her and pulls her in, until this burning fire becomes her sole reason of living. It's dangerous and wild and irrational – _prefect_ , because Kurassem Gaunt is Kura Porter ( _Black_ , Black!) and she is all of these things.

She has found a love to match her madness.

.

 _From its hanger like I'm choosing a body_

.

Theodore hardly understands what it means for Kurassem to receive the ring he gives her. (The war is looming and really, with the Dark Lord _there_ , breathing down his neck, Kura agrees to meet. On her terms.) It's a lot of things, really, because so far Kurassem had done her best to survive and that ring really is not good for her survival. (She still takes it, because it's good for Theo's and in her madness, all Kura cares about it him.)

She does many things for Theodore.

The green dress she wears is absolutely beautiful, and Kurassem looks like a proper Gaunt when she lets her mad Black curls tumble down her back and rests the cool silver snake against her throat. There's a slit running up her leg because it's easy access (to her wand, to her legs –to her manipulation of others as well) and it highlights the pureblood tone of her flesh. She looks sexy and she looks beautiful and Theodore is sharply reminded of how much he _actually_ loves the girl wearing his ring. (He loves her a lot more than these men at the pub. He knows that. That's why she's the one wearing the ring.) Theodore wonders if he'll have to ask the Dark Lord permission, figures he might as well ( _bona fide_ ) and steels himself. He's scared shitless, because the man could kill him in a snap of his fingers, but for some reason Kurassem isn't worried in the slightest. She smiles, tells him Tom wouldn't kill him –and she uses _his muggle name_. Theodore wonders at how much he doesn't know still.

They meet at a posh restaurant, because that's what Kurassem wanted. They are the last to arrive, a statement he supposes, but Kura is the one taking the lead on that encounter and Theodore will follow her down. (He loves her, enough to brand her and make her his and taint her with his own Mark.) Voldemort is sat at a table, somewhere tucked away in the back, but he does rise when his grand-niece arrives. She kisses both his cheeks with a cool calm, waits for Theodore to draw her seat at His right hand and engages her Pater Familias in a quiet, intimate Parseltongue conversation. (It's odd, and there is _that_ light, the mad, crazy one, lighting up in both their eyes –like kindred souls that have found one another. Tom Riddle has always craved family and Kurassem will love anyone willing to love her.) Eventually, the conversation switches back to English when the ring gets mentioned.

"_it is a rather pretty jewel."

"_merely a statement of my intention, My Lord, for I would not presume to warrant your approval." It is one of the first sentences Theodore has spoken tonight, having been transparent to the two Slytherins all throughout dinner –and it is a good one if the nearly identical smiles he receives are anything to go by. (How could people who had never met before be so _alike_?)

"_ _I had been receiving unwanted attention –something Theodore was more than happy to relieve me of._ " He doesn't startle at the snake hisses coming out of his soon-to-be-wife's mouth, but Theodore cannot hold back a shiver. It's gross and disgusting and turns him on a little. (He's somewhat ashamed of himself for that.)

"_ _more than happy? Should I be concerned?"_ Kurassem laughed, _laughed_ at that, throwing her head back and baring her neck as she let forth peals of startled laughter. She had picked a side. (The losing side of the war.)

.

 _To carry me into this world_

.

He doesn't say anything to his friends when he returns to Hogwarts for the New Year. It's January the fifth, the grounds are frozen but Theodore Nott's life is in full bloom. Kurassem has picked a side –his side, the one of the Dark Lord, and she has bound her name to his in a way that no one, not magic and not man, will ever part. (The Dark Lord insisted, all but forced Theodore and Kurassem into a wedding neither were ready for, but he was too scared and she was too cynical for them to defy Him.)

Voldermort is satisfied. With Theodore branded (like a cow, like a beast for slaughter), Kurassem's loyalty cannot waver. (If she steps out of line, it is her husband who will bear the brunt of the punishment. Tom is not kind, but he is _Slytherin_. Kurassem does not deviate.) He gifts them with a rundown home in little Hangleton, one neither need since the Porter and Nott Manors have already fallen into near desuetude by cause of disuse. Still. A couple of charms and a healthy dose of laconism turn the ruin into a habitable home. The Dark Lord merely smiles.

It's January the fifth. Theodore is back at Hogwarts but Kurassem has remained at Gaunt Manor, has remained under His thumb and Theodore cannot bear the thought of them living so close. (He doesn't know what he fears more. Their madness, commune and shared –or Him, Him and what he will do to her, because Kurassem is already so _mad_ and so _on the line_.)

It's January the fifth. Hogwarts is overrun by Death Eaters and Theodore keeps a low profile in the corridors, because he may be of higher status than anyone in this school (He's a _Slytherin_ now, past his house colours and Hogwarts loyalties) but Theodore Nott doesn't really believe in it all. He's _seventeen_ , for fuck's sake. He doesn't believe in anything. (Nothing but Kurassem and the knowledge they'll get through this together.)

It's January the fifth and Kurassem has breakfast with her sole remaining relative. She's half pleased and half surprised to realise the handsome man who entered the _Blue Badger_ is the real aspect of her Lord (or that's what he wants her to think anyway, and she's too scared not to obey him there) but breakfast is still a tense affair. Especially since there's a dead woman on the table –one Kurassem _recognises_ and one Nagini is eyeing with hunger.

It's a few days past the New Year (hope and change and beginning anew), but the newly-wed couple has no illusions. The world is set against them and they will only have each other to face it with.

.

 _Through the birth cries and the love cries too_

.

"_ _a honeymoon?_ " Kurassem is surprised by her great Uncle's suggestion. (It's an order.)

"_ _isn't it tradition?_ " He asks –she knows better than to answer. Rhetoric is something the Dark Lord prefers to normal conversations; they don't require an equal, you see. Kurassem pens a note to her husband (when did _that_ happen?) and Theodore aparates to the Gaunt Manor by nightfall. The destination is chosen at random (suggested by the Dark Lord) and an idle mention of Merlin's long lost wand has cold sweat running down their back. (This isn't a honeymoon at all and they have to find a mythical artefact and _what the fuck is going on_?)

The portkey to Egypt whisks them away before either teenager can process what happened.

(It's a honeymoon but _not_ and they have to bring back presents for everyone _but not_ because only the Dark Lord wants one and that's Merlin's wand and _what the hell_? They are married and that happened so quickly and Theodore left like the day after and Kurassem is totally _unhinged_ after spending time in His presence and _why the hell does her English sound so_ –so _hissing_? It's like she's fucking talking parseltongue all the time.)

The hotel is nice (paid by the Dark Lord, would you believe it? though Narcissa probably dealt with _that_ aspect of the trip.) and they have a splendid view on the Nile. The air is stuffy in Alexandria, the harbour is dirty and busy and there are masses of people everywhere, breathing and pulsating with the rhythm of the sea. It's like magic is permeating the air, even in Muggle Alexandria, but neither really know what to do with that piece of information. The black folder on their study's desk tells them. (What hotel room has a study, a double room with balcony, a living room, a bathroom _and_ a dining room _with balcony_?)

Neither acknowledge the beautiful penmanship of Lord Nott, recently broken out of Azkaban, at the bottom of the last page. _Remember to enjoy the trip_. It's just awkward when your dad tells you to shag your newly wife.

(They do, shag. Every day, though never in the same places. They do it on the bed in their suite, in the bathtub that could have been a pool in a past life, on the dining table, in the study when frustration overtakes them, underwater in the ruins of the Library, in the backstreets of Cairo and even in the vestiges of the Atlántida found inside Lake Victoria. That's where they find Merlin's wand, broken and shattered and the Basilisks heartstrings almost gone.)

Voldemort says nothing when they bring the shattered relics back, suntanned and tired. Their mission's a success, even if it took a month and a half and neither teenager tried to hurry it up. For all he is mad, the Dark Lord sees the marks of the Carrows on his son-in-law, sees the paranoia with which their children, _his bloodline_ moves, and the madness cannot hide the sudden flash of realisation; _what is going on_? What _happened_? Why are Purebloods so skittish? Why is there no self-confidence, no knowledge of one's worth, no assurance of their pride? The madness clouds back over, but the sensation persists. Tom waits until they are alone and asks her about an Heir to the house of Gaunt. Kurassem feels her blood run cold, because _'no, my Lord. There are no Heirs_.' He doesn't quite crucio her, but Kurassem doesn't think it's mercy that stalls his hand. She waits for the other shoe to drop.

' _This world is for you_.' he says when the night grows old and Kurassem remains with him regardless. (He's _family_ and _family_ takes care of their own. Despite the madness and the fear and the pain.) 'F _or your children, purebloods, for your happiness as well. Are you happy_?"

For all the Dark Lord acts like a monster, Tom is really just her Uncle looking out for her because it isn't _right_ that they should bite the dust when they are purebloods and heirs of Salazar Slytherin's magic. And for that, Kurassem does love him.

.

 _And I'll wear it, like bones, like skin_

.

"_look at you." Theodore isn't happy with her. Kurassem knows why. He's too Slytherin, too scared, to do anything other than watch her as she stands by the Dark Lord's side, but Theodore is someone she loves and so the madness clears as he speaks. Kura looks at herself.

There's a body, at her feet. More than one, really, because the Dark Lord has asked her to prove her loyalty and Kurassem loves Tom as much as she does Theo and survival. She doesn't know their names, but the Muggle Born boy was in her year at Hogwarts. Colin, perhaps? A Gryffondork for sure. He has his hands tight around a little boy who had to be his brother, both dead because Kurassem was ordered to by her Uncle. She loves Him more than she does them.

Grey eyes look up to Theodore, to her _husband_ –and isn't that just crazy.

"_I love you." she says in a dead voice (how the hell is that _her_ voice?). That's what got her in this mess in the beginning, that's the problem. "I love you." she says again, this time a little more desperate and a lot more quietly.

"_I know."

The bodies are cold at their feet. They are alone in the halls of Malfoy Manor –the Dark Lord obtained what he wanted and he has no use for them today anymore. Theo apparates her to their bedroom at the Gaunt Mansion. (It's not home _._ )

"_look at you." he says again, quietly as they stand where they landed. Neither move. "Look at you." he says again. _Look at you_.

Kurassem has changed. Maybe it's the madness she wore like a cloak which has seeped into her skin. Maybe it's the darkness of the Lord which has infected the very air she breathes and taken root inside her body. Kurassem has changed, changed in a way that goes right down to her bones and what once was a skin to wear, a cloak to hide under has now become _her_. The woman before him is not the one he married, and the one he married isn't the girl he loved, but Theodore is stuck with her and he does love her anyway.

Still. Kura's changed. She isn't really Kura anymore. The half-blood drop out Ravenclaw who wanted to live on a reserve has died and now it's just a Slytherin supremacist pureblood in front of him. The mask has sunk into her skin and Kura, Natalie's Kura, the girl that smoked at his manor and kissed him in the Orchard and scattered her friend's ashes in the sea isn't there anymore. (And maybe the boy who took a drunk witch home and fell in love with a girl despite being gay and sat by the side of a dying muggle born is dead as well. Maybe Theo's dead as well and only Theodore is left.)

They have changed. Neither like what they have become. (Surviving isn't living. They find that they don't care for either anymore.)

.

 _And it'll be the goddamned_

.

They didn't expect to survive the war. (They didn't really want to either.)

Nott and Gaunt and Porter and Slytherin –the Houses all vanish overnight; as the blood of the War runs and it's a shame really. Little snakes don't get the rules bent for them, not the ones about playing Quidditch in first year and not the ones about Death either.

Theodore Nott and Kurassem Gaunt have no God left to pray, no _will_ to beg forgiveness even if they were some to be prayed. (Kura's and Theo's death have damned them.)

.

 _Dress they bury me in._

.

She wakes up in her bed, at Hogwarts. Kura Gaunt is twelve years old.

She remembers dying at twenty in Azkaban, at fifty six when she learnt of Theo's demise in his cell, at fifteen when she tried to kill the Dark Lord, at thirty two when He became unstable and thought she wanted to kill Him, at seventy five with a horrible tattoo on her arm, at seventeen during the Battle.

The shores to the White Lake are closed to her. (Kurassem tries again.)

She'll die at sixteen from a prank gone wrong inside the Shrieking Shack, at fifteen from a Potion's accident, at fifty nine by the wand of aurors after a lifetime of hiding with her husband, at seventeen under the Cruciatus, at twenty one by the Chosen One's wand, at nineteen from Theo's anger, at twenty six in Azkaban, at thirty one from mercury poisoning, at forty five in child birth, at twenty due to betraying Theo, at fifty three from the newest purist movement.

Kurassem Black née Gaunt will die in 1994, aged thirteen. She will be home when the Death Eaters arrive to her house on that Halloween and both her father and she will fall victim to the rise of the Dark Lord. (Theodore Nott will never know Kura Black, even less Kurassem Gaunt and he will end his life with a wife he doesn't love, drowning his sorrows in firewhiskey over the not-quite-there shadow of a woman, of _something,_ he needed to remember.)

Harry James Potter will kill the Dark Lord at the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998, after having destroyed his Horcruxes and given himself up as sacrifice. The war will go as scripted and the House of Slytherin will pass onto history. Their name will become a story, and the story a legend –the legend a myth until it will fall forgotten.

Kurassem Gaunt will see, for the first time, the White Lake from the other side. (Theodore Nott won't remember upon crossing the Veil his many deaths and his many loves. Only the Heir of Slytherin will recall the hundred lives they lived –they were _together_ in ninety nine of them; and maybe it is better that way. Certain things, things like what she did for him, are better left unsaid.)

 _Many things_ are better left unsaid.


End file.
